


I've Seen a Glimpse of Something Sacred and I Cling

by Erinsaber



Category: Dream SMP-Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Timeline What Timeline, au-or not, cw food, maybe? - Freeform, shippers if you even LOOK at my fic I will stomp you to death with my hooves, they are happy!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erinsaber/pseuds/Erinsaber
Summary: Sometimes, family is a musician, a raccoon, a blood god, and the father figure that raised them all. Here, at the beginning (or end) of everything, they are happy.
Relationships: found family - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	I've Seen a Glimpse of Something Sacred and I Cling

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by thedarkstrangeson, thank you so much, you are quite literally the reason this exists
> 
> Title from In The Woods by Demi the Daredevil

Tommy plays in the yard, bright clothes getting muddy and dull as he hops in and out of the stream, holding a wood sword. Wilbur watches from nearby, in case he falls, but he never does. Wilbur picks strings on his ukelele and tries to ferret out the melody that found him in his dreams last night, a haunting thing about grief and hope. Phil calls them in when the sun starts to set, and the smell of soup wafts out. The two boys walk back, Tommy starting to shiver. Wilbur silently sets his sweater on Tommy’s head, and ignores the cursing that follows, ruffling his hair when Tommy puts the jacket on. 

Inside the house, the table is set and bowls are laid out. It smells delicious, and Wilbur makes sure to tell Technoblade that as they all sit down. His hybrid brother says nothing, but gives a small smile, and for Wilbur that is enough. They all sit down, and Wilbur thinks about the four people who are a family, dysfunctional and devilish as they may seem. 

Wilbur has ink in his body instead of bones and music flows through his veins instead of blood. He is sunshine and an atom bomb, a revolution in a song. He knows Phil is afraid of the day he decides to claim his legacy, because it will be beautiful and bloody, but Wilbur is determined to build his own path and forge his own destiny, and he knows it will be glorious when he does. He is unafraid of the furious future he sees, and welcomes the nickname Icarus, because it means he will fly before he falls, and his name will be spoken in the annals of history. 

Tommy sits down and Wilbur looks at his wildcard brother, whose hands and heart aren’t yet calloused, who runs too fast and rides too fast and screams to the sun because the rush is just right and howls at the moon, challenging the night. He is his own planet, a profane pioneer, and Wilbur wants to watch his brother grow up into the man he will become, a fugitive or a fighter or a family man. Tommy has an infinite future, and Wilbur wants to know how his little infinity will play out. He loves his little brother the way he loves a suspended chord, all paroxysm and potential. 

Technoblade ladles out the soup and Wilbur takes a quiet moment to mourn a future that his brother will never have, one unbothered by voices crying for blood and the legacy of a slaughter he will never be able to escape, but he puts the sorrow away. Technoblade is a live wire, he is jittery laughter and desperate control that will never be enough. He is the spark that starts a blaze while trying to turn on the stove for supper, the ember that sparks the forest fire. Technoblade will burn himself out, quietly if he is lucky, in a blaze of guilt and glory if he is not. He will not grow old, but neither of them will. Wilbur knows it in his bones, the same way he knows the lyrics that fly from him like they are fleeing, that neither he nor his brother will grow old, and Phil will be left to mourn them. Technoblade ladles soup and Wilbur looks at his hands, covered in scars and calluses, and loves his brother the way he loves dusk, all the quiet danger and delight of night. 

Phil murmurs a thanks and Wilbur looks at his father, the wilful wanderer who set down and took him and his brothers in, and wonders why he did. It was Phil who bandaged scraped knees and taught him basic first aid and how to tie his shoes, how to follow the sun home and sing and love with the whole of himself, but his past has always been a mystery. Wilbur knows he was a juvenile jet-setter who traveled the worlds from the stories he’ll tell, but he doesn’t know how Phil became such a good weaver or where his scars are from or what happened to the wings he’ll only reference when talking about the far past, or how he got to be so skilled with a sword. Phil is a steady comet, a midnight mystery. Wilbur loves him even as he wonders, and resigns himself to no answers.

The four of them, musical mutiny, chaos child, disobliging dynamo, and unfathomable father figure, make a pretty picture as they sit around an oak table, scarred and stained and theirs. They are the stuff stories are made of, myths come to life, and Wilbur’s fingers are itching for a pen and paper even as he eats. He hums a waltz distractedly as his brothers bicker, feeling the Beat-beat-beat-Beat-beat-beat in the rhythm of their words and cutlery, something quick and silvery even as Phil breaks up the fight before it can start. 

They eventually pack up dinner and wash up, then start the rest of their evening. Phil weaves as Wilbur tries to teach Tommy to play the ukulele, chiming in every once in a while with a suggestion. Technoblade pulls out a whetstone and works on a sword. He claims to be unable to make music like the rest of them, but his strokes fall neatly in time with the song Tommy is playing, a boisterous ballad Phil had taught Wilbur that he learned ‘in a pub somewhere far from here’ about a boy who wants to get home from a bar who keeps getting mislaid in increasingly humorous situations. It has about a million verses and simple chord progressions, which makes it ideal to teach and re-listen to.

Eventually, Phil starts making noises about going to bed, which has absolutely nothing with Tommy’s eyes fluttering shut, because Tommy is very nearly grown up and can go to bed as late as he likes. Phil allows Tommy to walk him up to bed, because ‘you’re so old dad, you might fall down and break something!’ Wilbur bursts into laughter as soon as they're out of sight, and Techno lets out a little chuckle. Wilbur picks up the ukulele and starts picking out the tune he was hearing at dinner, letting the lyrics come as the chords collide in copacetic chaos, a whimsical waltz that has Techno tapping his foot in three four time. Wilbur’s brother puts away his sword and starts working on a present for Phil, a set of elytra that he had gotten third hand from a shady shopkeeper in the village three day’s walk from their home. It needs repairs and fireworks, but Technoblade is determined to get it finished by Phil’s birthday, and if anyone can do it, it will be his moonlight mad brother, Arachne born again. 

The fire burns down, and at long last the two of them bow to the inevitable and head to their rooms, ready to sleep and rise again, the sunrise their siren to a new day.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment or kudos if you did, it would make my day!


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